


Don't judge a wolf by its fur

by CruelisnotMason



Series: Sheith Crossovers [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Butterbeer (Harry Potter), Fuck terfs tho, Getting Together, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, Hufflepuff Pride, M/M, Pining, Prom, Romance isn't dead there's still Takashi Shirogane, Werewolves, Winter, non-detailed mention of torture, non-detailed threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28377453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CruelisnotMason/pseuds/CruelisnotMason
Summary: Entirely charmed by the new teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Hogwarts' gamekeeper Keith finds out that Shiro's positive reputation might not be...as flawless as he thought it was.But then again, Keith has some secrets of his own.
Relationships: Hunk & Keith (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Sheith Crossovers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116764
Comments: 11
Kudos: 84





	Don't judge a wolf by its fur

**Author's Note:**

> Edited this fic quite a bit since the first time I published it :>
> 
> Insomnia, aka the inability to get any sleep tonight finally gave me the last push to finish editing and upload it. Which means I've posted a winter fic this year after all :>

With the calendar page turning to _December,_ snow falls heavy over Hogwarts.

It falls and falls until thick layers of white, puffy blankets coat all of the magical area in North England–and with it the _school of witchcraft and wizardry_. Both the main building—an archaic castle still upholding its sprightly pillars for several bygone eras—and the meager hut a couple hundred meters below marking the beginning of the _Forbidden Forest,_ harbor quiet energy.

At the first snow-turned-snowstorm, Keith’s initial thoughts take away to the plants and animals that won’t survive a cold winter like this, especially not without his help. Much less even, if the heavy snowflakes keep coming. When Keith watches them sometimes levitate—sometimes sink quickly to the ground, he feels particularly fortunate about his fireplace, and less lucky about the leaky window above his only table.

Still, Keith enjoys this time of the year. It means less work for him to tend the school’s gardens (because nothing will grow) or the animals which retreat to the deeper grounds of the Forbidden Woods. It means no judgment about thickly woven sweatshirts and pullovers, or drinking butterbeer at Hogsmeade (even though Keith personally prefers a warm cocoa over butterbeer by far). It also means reduced classes since all students without exceptions are busy preparing the exams before the holidays. Keith doesn’t hate students, but he likes the silence that drapes itself like a thin veil over the voluminous landscape at the first trickle of them returning home.

The holidays got their downside, though, even though Keith wouldn’t share them with a soul. Students leaving for the holidays usually means professors leaving too. There’s a certain one he’d like to even see during the holidays.

Not that there could be anything done about that. Certainly, the fact that Prof. Shirogane, gives Keith some kind of attention during the school year doesn’t mean a thing.

Any of Shiro's attention is much less a proof for his interest in Keith as a person, and instead hints to his interest in Keith’s _studies_. Soon Shiro, too, as Keith assumes, will head home to a husband or a family, unlike Keith who will stay in the hut and in Hogwarts not only for the holidays but year-round.

It’s not a coincidence that Keith thinks about Prof. Shirogane and promptly spots the person in question hurrying over the narrow trail leading to Keith’s hut. It would be more surprising if Keith didn't think of him in that moment. After all, Keith is thinking about Shiro on the daily more often than he’s not thinking about him.

Keith doesn’t know if he should look at Shiro or not look at Shiro as the man with a dash of white hair rivaling the brightness of the snow around him slides over the slippery ground to him. Keith decides to awkwardly whatch Shiro during the whole slippery slope, and admires Shiro's beautifully reddened and excited face partly hidden by the ends of a thick scarf swirling around him.

“Hello, Keith,” the professor greets in his dark and frankly, incredibly sexy voice that sometimes haunts Keith in his dreams, when he stops right in front of him.

“It’s snowing,” he announces as if Keith couldn’t possibly know himself. Then, he extends his arms, both gloved, hiding which one is made out of flesh and which one out of metal.

Some might assume Keith could have trouble seeing the snow even though the white dust has been coming down for several days now, since a long, viscous-looking scar covers half of Keith’s face, including an eyelid and a cheek.

But thanks to one magical glass eye implanted by the headmistress of Hogwarts personally, Keith can see the tremendous amounts of snow perfectly well, _thank you_.

He doesn’t say that much to Shiro though, with Shiro most probably talking theoretically.

“Aren’t you cold, Professor?” he mutters and lets his gaze graze over Shiro’s red ears.

“Ah, well.” Shiro shrugs, eyes up at the greyish-white sky, still admiring the white cotton levitating to the ground. “I’m battling it like a champ.”

Keith rolls his eyes a little, and a smirk appears on Shiro’s face.

 _He looks handsome,_ Keith allows himself to think.

Shiro is a respected—and feared—professor at Hogwarts, and maybe Keith would share this opinion if he wasn’t already painfully aware that all the grim rumors about Shiro don’t hold any real ground, and in reality, the man’s pretty much a dork.

“Why don’t you wear a hat instead, Professor?” Keith asks.

“I don’t have one,” Shiro replies, as a matter of fact.

_Figures._

When Shiro looks at him, Keith takes the few steep steps to his hut. Awkwardly standing there and waiting, Keith holds the door open for him. Shiro sends him a smile upon entering, and takes off his scarf the moment he sits down on one of the old rocking chairs with a loud creak. His copper metal fingers find and bury themselves into thick black fur. Keith’s hound, Kosmo, yawns loudly, stretches, and leans into the fingers that caress him with enthusiasm.

Shiro’s eyes snap back to Keith, before they allow themselves their usual routine of exploring the inside of the hut. Every time Shiro looks and wonders as if he’s a kid visiting a candy store for the first time.

Keith gets an odd pleasure from watching him in return; he likes that Shiro likes how he lives. The hut is sturdy, full of things that have value—Keith doesn’t care about the cost of things more than their actual use—but also full of crap too. As Shiro looks around, settling down in his chair, with the red cheeks fading a little, Keith examines Shiro’s head. He assumes he could knit him a hat, assuming that Shiro would want Keith to.

But Keith doesn’t speak his thoughts, and doesn’t offer Shiro a hand-knitted hat; instead he steps around Shiro to his fireplace, unhinges the cauldron of boiling water from its hook and pours them two cups. Out of a nearby cupboard, Keith takes a slightly tacky, decorated tin with a strange pattern, and carries everything to the wooden table, to Shiro.

“Blackberry herbal tea.” Keith takes a few leaves out of the tin, tosses them into the cups, and puts the lids back tightly on the container. “Out of the Widowed Forest on the Southside of the Castle,” he clarifies, with an inch of barely restricted pride.

Shiro shuffles close and peeks into his cup with curiosity. Keith enjoys every time Shiro is genuinely invested in something Keith shows him. All too quickly, heat sprouts into Keith’s cheeks because of Shiro’s happy smile, and in an instant, he shoves the ceramic cup into Shiro’s hand. Shiro doesn’t lean back, but watches the color of the hot water turn from translucent to pitch-black.

“What gives me the honor?” Keith asks politely and brings his own darkening cup to his lips. He gently cools the heat with a blow of his lips, eyes closed. “I assume there are new ingredients you need.”

Keith opens his eyes in time to see Shiro’s eyes glance away.

“Ah. Yes, y _es_ ,” Shiro mutters, as if he needs convincing of his own reply, first of all. For a moment, they both sit and wait for the other to move, until Shiro scratches his head and pats his coat, searching for the piece of parchment paper he pulls out a second later.

Shiro looks at the parchment, and takes a brief inhale, then he turns his head to Keith, and looks at him with his usual collected expression.

“The class and I will learn a few methods of identifying sneakily dropped Veritaserum in tea. Also I’ll prepare another course on how to trace the mark of Death back to Death Eaters. Next year my class will research it.”

Keith hadn’t been born during the Great War nor immediately afterwards like a couple of teachers at Hogwarts. Neither had Shiro. But as a professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts and the current atmosphere in the magic world, that kind of work is of high importance. Keith thinks it’s admirable how Shiro gets behind these projects, and makes him like Shiro even more.

“For the Veritaserum test you need the _bluekraut_ made of Belladonna, right?”

Shiro looks at him in surprise, eyes wide and mouth slightly opened. “Two weeks I searched for a recipe and you’re just slapping a key ingredient out like that.”

Shiro sounds so fascinated, eyes seeming to shine for Keith only.

“You truly amaze me, Keith.”

Keith’s not immune to praise, but he usually tries to not take Shiro’s compliments too seriously. Shiro compliments Keith’s abilities at all times, which he first held for a joke. Now he’s come to learn that Shiro’s words are utmost sincere—which makes it worse. As a result, Keith looks down, desperately hiding how flustered he feels.

“It takes some time until the Belladonna leaves turn when put in vinegar. I’m afraid I won’t be quick enough to prepare it for you in time,” Keith hurries to say.

Shiro hums, his initial excitement still there. “If we won’t be able to do it before the holidays, we’ll do it after. There’s still some time before the year ends.”

Keith nods, then sets his cup down and slowly extends his hand. “What else do you need?”

“Ah.” Shiro reaches inside his sleeve and pulls out another parchment paper. “There are a few potions I need to brew over the holidays.”

Keith takes the parchment roll from him within the blink of an eye and examines it. All ingredients seem easy enough to get—Keith nods again while skimming through the list.

“Speaking of which,” Shiro says. Quickly, Keith’s eyes are back on him.

“You’re here, right? During the holidays,” Shiro tests. The metallic fingers of his right hand clatter against his half-filled mug. Kosmo’s head perks up, but he quickly sinks down to rest on his paws again.

“I’ll be here,” Keith confirms. “Can’t wait for the silence to set in when all the students are gone. That one Rawenclaw with the rabbit teeth called me stinky wolf the other day.”

It’s not a secret anymore that Keith is a werewolf.

Not since one of the Slytherin kids exposed him during a class of _Care of Magical Creatures_ in September. Since then, the whole school knew, and many students got bold enough to tease him about it, or the scar. The headmistress had a long and excruciating talk with Keith, but, in the end, Shiro came unexpectedly to his aid and vouched for him. More importantly, he promised to brew the necessary potions for Keith to keep his werewolf side at bay as long as he’d teach at Hogwarts.

Keith doesn’t know _how_ he deserves Shiro.

“Ah,” Shiro’s smile turns from open and friendly to frozen and creepy. “Kev from second year, right? I could scare him and ask him if he wants to be the person to test the Veritaserum if you want.” Even his voice takes on a dangerous tone. Shiro’s oozing with bad energy, and Keith can’t be the reason for him to do something between mild and devastating to embarrass a student for Keith’s sake.

“No,” Keith says in an instant, always uncertain if Shiro means the things he says. “No, he’s just a kid. And I _am_ a stinky wolf,” he laughs.

“Just a joke,” Shiro reassures with a frozen smile. Keith is now sure he really meant it. “Also, I beg to differ.” He smiles again and this time, it’s genuine. His hand plays with the handle of the mug. “But what I got from this is that you’ll be here during the holidays, yes?”

Shiro’s cheeks slightly redden again, and he raises his mug for another sip. Kosmo—right next to him—growls in his sleep, probably dreaming about chasing rabbits.

“Yes,” Keith replies, fumbling with a loose strand of hair. “And I can bring you more ingredients if needed, Professor.” With these words he puts the parchment rolls into his scrawny backpack, and heaves another another log into the fire.

“Ah, that’s not, _uh_.” Shiro pauses and waits until Keith is seated again. “There’s a Winter ball. I just wasn’t sure if Headmistress Allura told you about it.”

Shiro fumbles with his sleeves now, looking everywhere but Keith.

“She didn’t. Maybe she doesn’t want me to be there,” Keith assumes. He stifles a yawn, throws a look outside the window where the snow keeps piling up. When he looks back at Shiro he sees his smile drop.

“Okay, no, uh. Keith,” Shiro says, fumbling _more_. At this point Keith fears Shiro will drop the mug. “I told her not to invite you—”

“What now?” Keith asks, brows furrowed. Shiro jerks his arm and hits the cup of tea, spilling the last of its contents over the table and floor. Keith jumps up, rushing to get a rug.

“—because I wanted to invite you. Personally.”

Kosmo shrieks out of his sleep, looks at Keith and starts barking at the mess, only adding to the current disaster. Keith quickly kicks the door of the hut open to let the wolf out.

“Kosmo, out!” Keith yelps, trying to stop the wolf from directly walking through the wetness.

Kosmo dashes into the snow, snatching falling snowflakes and running circles around the hut. Keith closes the door and looks back inside. Shiro looks a little crushed. “Uh.” Keith remembers where they left off, completely unbelieving of Shiro’s last words. “You wanted to invite _me_?”

“Uh-huh.” Shiro’s still not looking at him, trying to dry off the spilled water with his sleeve. Keith almost wants to stop him from using his delicate clothing; it looks expensive and they both could have used a drying spell instead.

“When is it?”

“The 23rd.”

Keith does the math in his head. “Three days after the full moon,” Keith states and sees Shiro’s movements falter. He quickly adds: “But I should be fine by then. I’m probably just a little roughed up so soon after.”

Shiro’s eyes regain their curious shine from before. “Then it’s a date,” he says, his grey eyes admiring Keith.

Keith almost shivers under their intensity, barely comprehending the depth of Shiro’s words.

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, unable to take his eyes off the beautiful, silly man standing in his hut, who looks so fondly at Keith while wiping at the dried out spot, absentmindedly. “Yes, it is.”

*

Theoretically, Keith doesn’t know if Shiro means a date or a _date-date_.

He tries not to think about it much when he wanders through the Forbidden Forest the next day. It’s pretty warm between densely grown spruces, with bushes and ground untouched by the snowstorm raging in the snow globe-like world outside.

Kosmo, Keith’s loyal companion, happily plods next to him, snatching for whirring insects that found shelter in the woods. Once in a while, he runs forward and comes back only after Keith completely loses track of him.

Once in a while, Keith takes his wand out to accio a stick into his hand, and throws it. As usually, the stick flies, completely ignored by Kosmo.

“You did it once for Shiro,” Keith mutters accusingly under his breath. Kosmo looks back at him, dark eyes examine Keith. Then he turns back again and continues chasing moths and craneflies.

Keith likes their little adventures in the woods. He enjoys lonesomeness, but never minds any of the magical beings freely roaming around in the Forbidden Forest, sometimes even close to him, unaware—in Hunk’s words—that ‘literally everything in the Forbidden Forest is extremely deadly and could kill him’.

To Keith, all forests shelter from humans and magicians who are sometimes the true beasts that kill. They are in no ways better than the caretakers at the adoption center who wouldn’t accept Keith for who he is. They’d hold him responsible for not being a fully turned werewolf—with no control to stop his wolf form to turn completely wild during full moons.

The horror stories they would tell to smear the names of the wolves who had helped turn Keith, enraged him far more than any full moon could. Keith was there when the transformation happened—he knows they didn’t mean to make him into someone uncontrollable, or brutal.

Of course Keith would have preferred being fully turned and able to hold back during the transformation. Being in his half-state sometimes made him feel on edge, angry for no reason and restless even during other times of the month. But since Shiro started treating him, he’s been feeling better.

Kosmo’s bark interrupts Keith’s thoughts—a rustling comes from a row of whortleberry bushes. Immediately, Keith stops in his steps, taking his crossbow off his shoulder, and loads it. On Keith’s walks through the woods, he never intends to hurt another creature. They’ll usually leave him alone just like he does. In the Forbidden Forest, they recognize him as one of their own, but still.

Keith would be a _fool_ to let his guard down.

He and Kosmo wait patiently for a few birds and spiders to escape—seems like a false alarm, after all—and Keith takes a little wooden tray from his backpack to collect a handful of the berries.

“Easy,” Keith warns a happily munching Kosmo, enjoying the berries on the lower branches. “You’ll spoil your tummy.”

Alas, Kosmo wouldn’t be Kosmo if Keith didn’t need to physically remove the giant hound from the food source himself.

As Keith wrestles with his two-hundred-pound grown wolf baby, he wonders if Shiro would accept an invite to the Forbidden Forest one day. Nothing big or official, maybe just for a little silent walk together.

They could look at the widespread acromantula net together, or walk down to the lake at dawn when the red sun sinks into the muddy water, and listen to the merpeople humming awaiting for their heads to get woozy. Maybe Shiro would prefer going far deeper into the woods to collect valuable unicorn hair instead.

 _Maybe_.

As soon Keith finishes collecting all the ingredients from Shiro’s list, he starts his return path to the hut. There’s nothing left for him to do for the rest of the day, which is why he decides to rest on the big bed, together with Kosmo and do nothing.

Upon falling asleep, Keith remembers he should prepare his class for Magical Creatures for next week, and all the weeks after the holidays in advance, in order to make up for any time lost being turned and unable to form a single human thought as soon as the full moon arrives.

Keith lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes again. Only for a second, of course.

*

Keith's eyes snap open at the sound of an owl loudly knocking its beak on Keith’s window. The window glass is fragile, sounding close to breaking, so Keith groggily jumps off his bed to let the owl in. It carries a note that got exposed to the snow and cold weather, but Keith is still able to decipher the words on it:

_Keith, buddy. Did you forget me?_

_I’ve already gone to Honeydukes’ all by myself—_

_and bought too much..._

_Anyway, meet you (hopefully) at the Three Broomsticks!_

_Hunk_

The second Keith finishes reading the message, he grabs and throws on his thick, heavy coat; apparating right into the dim light of the street lanterns and pubs of Hogsmeade at night. Originally, he aimed to end up in the entrance of the _Three Broomsticks_ , but presumably wasn’t awake enough to actually make it. Instead, he takes a hard landing a few alleys further away and tumbles through deep snow to stop his momentum. He scrambles up and brushes the snow off his coat. With one look around Keith recognizes the street. Without a doubt he _had_ to accidentally end up in one of the darkest corners of the usually so lively small village.

As it is Keith’s luck, he also ends up in some kind of _situation_.

“Listen closely. There are no doubts that this _will_ kill someone. A few drops are enough to wipe out a whole group of people,” Keith hears someone mutter. The voice sounds oddly familiar.

There’s a small warning bell going off in Keith’s system, telling him to go about his way and mind his own business. There are all kinds of gruesome topics witches and wizards will talk about in broad daylight, including the effect of dark substances. Keith is about to politely piss off, when the sound of a mechanical buzz makes him freeze on the spot.

He has heard that particular sound often enough to have it inscribed into his memory, and usually it sets off a couple of warm emotions in his systems. But not now.

“A very valuable potion, Sir. Dangerous,” another voice says. Keith doesn’t recognize that one.

“That’s why I need to know who produces them,” Shiro—and now it’s completely clear to Keith that it is indeed him—replies. Part of why Keith didn’t recognize him immediately is that his voice appears far colder and distant than Keith ever heard him.

 _Nothing_ like the voice Shiro uses with Keith.

Immediately flashes of random accusations from students about Shiro come to Keith’s mind. They never tell Keith directly—as the bigger part of the student body deems him mysterious and suspicious as well—but now and then he overhears all those irrational pieces of gossip.

Usually, he can ignore them.

“I can’t tell—” the other man says, voice scared and breaking, and suddenly there’s only a gurgling sound to hear. In horror, Keith realizes that Shiro’s choking him. Choking a random man who won’t give him information about deadly ingredients.

“You will tell me,” Shiro hisses. “There’s evidence of—”

Keith doesn’t catch the rest of Shiro’s words. His voice is too quiet to understand it over the strangled yelps of a man suffocating. Keith thinks about putting a stop to it but… then what? Shiro is a powerful magician, one trained in Dark Arts. And if the rumors are right, the rumors about him being a former—

Thankfully, the strangled sound stops before Keith makes a reckless decision. Then a dull thump.

 _Please, don’t be dead,_ Keith thinks.

The man gasps for air and greedily inhales all the oxygen he can get despite coughing wildly. Shiro remains unimpressed. “That’s the information I needed. Thanks,” he says, but there’s no actual gratitude in his voice. “You could have spared us both time if you had given it from the start.”

Keith can’t believe his ears. Shocked, he takes one step back. The snow blanket beneath him gives a loud crunch.

“Who’s there?” Shiro’s roars through the night. Keith takes another step and apparates right into the _Three Broomsticks_.

The December night’s cold gives away to the sudden heat of the pub, oozing from a fireplace in one corner, and a mass of people from all around Keith. Warm, orange lights from lanterns and tiny, floating fires light the place up; a harsh contrast to the deep blue night and icey, cold snow surrounding Keith a second before. All the other people in the pub don’t look anything like Keith—full of snow, with his coat still on and his skin both pale and reddened at different places. They take a hush glance at him, before shrugging the incident off and turning back to their conversations.

At a single small table, Hunk nurses his beer—with two other, empty jugs standing right in front of him. Immediately, Hunk raises an eyebrow at Keith, even though he’s already in a quite tipsy state. Wordlessly, he pats the seat right next to him to indicate for Keith to sit.

“I think you could need a mint pill,” Hunk says. He reaches into his jacket pocket, and finds a small ampule and drops three mint pills into Keith’s hand. “They have a calming effect. Made a new batch yesterday.”

Keith tosses them into his mouth without a second thought, sucks on them and nods. A veil of calmness moulds itself over him. “Thanks,” he says, with fluttering eyelids.

“Happy you made it.” Hunk says, giving Keith a one-armed hug. “Three elves had a jam session with some punk influences earlier but you missed it by a few minutes. You would have liked that, I swear.”

Keith only manages a nod, then waves Rosmerta, unable to care about anything but the haunting scene he witnessed just now. The bar owner thankfully notices him, and sends one of her waiters to Keith.

While Keith orders, it gives him time to think of an explanation. Thankfully, Hunk doesn’t question Keith’s obviously _distraught_ condition. He’s the only teacher at Hogwarts that Keith really trusts—aside from Shiro, but _well..._ —and who never looked down on Keith. Even more than that, Hunk learnt better than to ambush Keith with too many questions; he had been incredibly curious about Keith being a werewolf the day he started knowing about it, even though none of them were ill-intended, they were all a bit too much.

No, he only sits there and watches Keith from the corner of his eye, waiting for him to speak up. And because Keith trusts him, he does.

“Shiro—,” Keith starts, the name lying heavy on his tongue, “he asked me to join the Winter Ball.”

With wide eyes, Hunk pushes his beer to Keith without a word. Keith takes it from him, gratefully gulping down a huge sip, before he slams the empty jug on the table. “And I said yes.”

Hunk gives a start, and the skin wrinkles around his eyes. “That’s great, bud—”

“I also just saw him threaten a man in _Fawn Alley_.”

“Oh—” Hunk chuckles first, then sees the stern look in Keith’s face. Hunk’s smile drops. “Oh. Oh shit. You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

“Then the rumors are true?” Hunk says, panic rising in his voice. A waiter comes by and brings them both new jugs. Keith definitely prefers tea over alcohol most days. Not today, though.

“What rumors?” he croaks. Keith knows some fleeting rumors, but he feels what Hunk might know could be more of a real deal. Keith takes a quick sip from the hot mulled wine to steady himself. The liquid burns down his throat and makes him cough.

“You know,” Hunk says and grimaces. Keith furrows his brows. “I mean, the main ones. They seemed so ridiculous though.”

“Which ones?

“You know~” Hunk repeats and wiggles his eyebrows at Keith so strongly Keith fears they’ll gain momentum and fly away. He returns Hunk’s gaze with a deadpan.

“I don’t.”

Hunk sighs. “That the Sorting Hat wanted to put him into Slytherin first, for example.”

Shudders run through Keith. There’s unnecessary prejudice on one hand, and a suspicious ratio of Slytherin-turned-Death Eaters on the other. _Nobody_ can deny that much.

Still, not _everyone_ sorted into Slytherin turns out to be a Death Eater later in life, and it’s not like an old magical hat from centuries ago truly possesses the ability to differentiate between _three kinds of child_ and _minions of evil_ through a mere head touch.

“So what,” Keith therefore returns, ready to defend Shiro to the bone.

Hunk takes a deep breath. “You’re right, that one’s harmless. But the other one is about the arm,” Hunk lowers his voice again as the waiter comes back with fresh beer.

“What about it?” Keith whispers.

“They say he cut it off himself to lose the Death Mark.”

Keith takes a steady breath, and chugs his beer in greedy gulps. The tipsiness from the alcohol helps Keith find another explanation. “Wouldn’t that mean he was bad once but now he’s good again?” he asks flatly. It doesn’t even convince Keith himself.

“Sure,” Hunk says, because he’s a supportive friend. “Sounds plausible.”

Keith reaches for another beer and empties it with a deep swallow. He and Hunk both stare at the fireplace across the room, at the way the flames start climbing higher and higher and lick at the cold stones that keep them at bay.

They stay silent, both lost in thought until Hunk empties fourth beer, and walk back to Hogwarts together. Keith drops Hunk off at the front stairs and walks back to his own small hut down the hill.

On his way back Keith feels the Forbidden Forest watch him, til the hut’s wooden door shields him from curious eyes. Quickly he falls into bed and invites tipsy dreams to swallow him whole—to drag him to the ground of his own inner, bottomless abyss.

Upon arrival, the bottom reveals itself as the muddy shore of the Forbidden Forest’s emerald lake—the place that kept coming to Keith’s mind whenever he thought of Shiro. In a great romantic gesture Keith dreamt about inviting him there; to show him the flaming sunset and listen to the alluring siren calls at night together.

But in the dream, Shiro’s nowhere to be seen. Instead of his bright white floof, Keith only sees the cold light of the full moon.

*

Amidst all, there’s something else troubling for Keith.

As if it’s not enough that his co-worker-slash-crush could be an undetected murderer, it seems even worse that Keith realizes it’s the very first time that he’s been invited to the Winter Ball in, like, _ever_.

In the quiet of his little hut, Keith searches through every last one of his drawers, slowly coming to the conclusion that he doesn’t possess any sound, well-fitted, _clean_ clothing that wouldn’t let him stand out at the ball like he’s the only scarecrow on a mowed field.

Therefore Keith decides—probably for the first time since he found out about owl-delivery-based clothing stores—to go shopping at Hogsmeade. This time, he’s in the small town alone, and walks from shop window to show window with sweaty palms in his pockets. Sweet, cinnamon-y scents lightly spread through the air as Keith passes the annual Hogsmeade Winter Singers, practicing a clean shift from crescendo to decrescendo.

Keith takes a turn, not without a smile on his lips, and ends up in _Slugpit Alley,_ where he finds the only second hand shop in Hogsmeade that he knows of. In the dimly lit shop, he quickly deems a black silk coat wearable. It fits and doesn’t have any weird spots on the material, which is good enough for Keith. With a look into the mirror, Keith decides it looks festive enough, even though it’s barely a match to Shiro’s wardrobe on his lesser days. Before Keith buys it, he scowls at the price tag for a few minutes in silence, and hopes he has a pair of pants to accompany the rather delicate and most expensive piece he’ll soon own.

Outside the shop, Keith scolds himself internally for trying _that_ hard for a possible criminal—but there’s a small glimpse of hope in him that everything he witnessed would still turn out to be a rather silly misunderstanding.

*

On the evening of the winter ball, Keith enters the Great Hall alone. In the far back he spots the familiar faces of the other teachers and sighs. All of them have already taken their seats at the long, elegantly decorated table, and seem to be in deep conversation with each other.

Heads turn when Keith walks a couple steps further into the hall, and the few students that spend the holidays at Hogwarts take a notice of him. Keith stays where he is and at the endless clear ceiling which the school is known for, his gut dropping at the thought that he has to walk up to the teachers’ table eventually. Involuntarily—thanks to his rather exceeding hearing skills—he understands the students’ whispers all surround one topic: Him.

Both the fact that Keith had a forced outing as a werewolf several months earlier and that he appeared at the Winter Ball for the first time seems to be of utmost interest to everyone.

But there’s nothing to be done about that. Keith ignores the whispers, and takes a second look at the teachers’ table.

Almost immediately, he spots Shiro among them. He wears his white hair different from the usual slicked back look, fluffed up instead. One strand hangs in the middle of his face, easily giving Shiro a youthful look more true to his age. The elegant white tux and the black fly exceed his already neat day-to-day look and compliment him so well that Keith can’t help uttering a curse under his breath.

In Shiro’s left hand he holds a crystal cup filled with a glittering, translucent liquid, while his mechanical hand loosely hangs on his right side. The heavily decorated, metal with curved pattern reflects—its nifty, clean shine reflecting speckles of the decorated hall’s holiday lights.

As he stands there and watches Shiro deep in conversation with headmistress Allura, Keith realizes that not only himself, but certainly teachers and students alike must notice how good looking Shiro is. Not only that, his personality is well-liked by pretty much everyone. Keith can’t hold it against them—he’s just as enchanted.

But now that he is about to approach him, the gut drop Keith feels is most eminent. Since the night he saw Shiro threaten a random man in an alley, Keith managed to excuse himself from meeting Shiro, which reduced their contact to once or twice before the Winter Ball, when Keith dropped off the ingredients he promised to gather for Shiro.

In a manner highly familiar to Keith, Shiro’s face lights up upon noticing him. He bares his teeth while smiling, expression pure, tipsy bliss—but the only thing Keith feels at the sight of him is his insides squeezing painfully together, and his spirit finally deciding to leave him. And yet, despite swearing to himself that Keith will show him the cold shoulder, seeing Shiro’s open and giddy smile makes him weak.

Like a love-struck fool, Keith smiles back.

Shiro jumps to his feet, the headmistress next to him completely forgotten. He walks around the painfully long table (Keith will never understand why’d they use an inconvenient one like that, but, alas, he’s not the one in power to make such a decision) and stops right in front of Keith.

“Hey,” Shiro smiles. He doesn’t care about the row of sitting teachers behind him, and leans right into Keith to hug him. Before he pulls back, he drops a quick peck on Keith’s cheek.

On the outside, Keith is as calm as a chameleon, even though he’s unsure what kind of expression he’s spotting. Neutral? So highly invested in looking indifferent, he’ll look bored? All is possible.

On the inside, he wants to shout from the snow mountains and hills surrounding Hogwarts at the moment. He wants to gleefully yell and jump at the same time.

On the outside, Keith hasn’t said anything for another full minute—

“I’m happy you came,” Shiro says, with a small confused question mark in his eyes, clearly saving Keith’s ass from a social faux pas. But Keith is unable to take the chance, and redeem himself by replying like a normal human being. At present, he’s too overwhelmed by the thought that everything Shiro seems to be, everything that contributes into forming the person he is to Keith could be actually fake.

In reality, Shiro could be the scary, threatening person he was in the alley. But when Keith sees him here, well-dressed and beautiful, the only thing he can believe is that there's goodness in Shiro.

“Yeah,” Keith finally answers, eyes clear and wide. “Me too. Thanks for the invitation.”

Shiro visibly relaxes, then waits for anything else. When nothing comes, he casts his eyes down. “Where are my manners,” he mutters to himself. “Should I get you something to drink?”

All Keith wants is to directly say yes and have a good evening. Then he shakes himself out of it—it does make it harder when Shiro just stands there right in front of him, good looking and admirable—and remembers that he maybe shouldn’t just trust Shiro. He should be on alert all the time. “I’ll get it myself.”

At that, Shiro’s smile seems to drop—but not for long. He nods eagerly and brings Keith to a table with several bowls and a drinking fountain in the middle, and recommends Keith the hot, spiced apple juice.

As they are settling down in a corner, more and more flocks of students enter the Great Hall, meet their friends and sit down at the long tables. Lively chatter floods the hall, and only dies down when Headmistress Allura rises from her seat to say a few words. Keith watches thick flakes of snow fall from the ceiling but not reach the ground of the hall, while he tries to listen. But all in vain—his mind keeps circling back to how he could possibly bring up what he saw that one evening in Hogsmeade.

Allura’s speech ends with the sound applause of everyone in the hall. Shiro and Keith take their drinks and refills and sit down at the teachers’ table to eat. Keith never really talks to the other teachers, but they are all friendly in their own way; at least they nod at Keith even though they can’t hide their suspicions against Keith. Keith shies away from speaking more than a few words to greet them, and supposes they didn’t plan on having abundant talks with him either.

Shiro quietly watches everyone’s interactions, even though his look turns slightly sour. He knows that the variness of the teachers come from somewhere, and most likely from the fact that until recently none of them knew about his existence as werewolf. Not even Allura.

Keith tries not to take it to heart—he reassures himself that they are trying their best. The general fear of werewolves isn’t substantial, and if anything, werewolves needed support with their turning, to keep themselves and others safe. _No one_ likes turning into a violent zombie, and that’s certainly not how it’s supposed to be.

Still, Keith feels a little antsy, but suspects his fear of being misjudged by the student and teacher body plays into it. He doesn’t stop to think that his increasing nervousness could be related to the full moon passing a few days ago and Keith not turning when he should have.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Keith?” Shiro asks all of a sudden. A quartett plays in the far back of the hall, but most Winter Ball attendees have resumed their conversations.

By now, Shiro has lost his tuxedo and rolled his sleeves up, making his forearms look so good Keith wants to lick them. It's nothing entirely new or abnormal to want to do that, especially if it’s _Shiro_.

At least Keith tells _himself_ that.

“Yes, professor,” Keith replies to a question he forgot already. His voice sounds rough and teasing for no real reason. It’s laid on unusually thick for Keith—even Shiro looks taken aback for a split second. But then, Keith sees his eyes darken. When Shiro licks his lips, he wants to scream.

“You could call me Takashi. You know,” Shiro prompts.

Keith pauses in his movements, mug of apple juice resting against his lips.

“I should not,” Keith says quickly, unable to pause his running thoughts.

“Oh,” Shiro breathes, very obviously disappointed, dropping his gaze down to his empty plate.

“Takashi,” Keith says quickly, because who needs a backbone? Not Keith, no.

Shiro’s eyes snap up quickly, a sly smile appearing on his lips. Keith both feels endlessly smitten and on the road to defeat. There’s no way he could face Shiro—if it turns out that it’s needed—in a match to death _now_.

Before Keith can follow through with that thought, Headmistress Allura interrupts everyone’s meal by announcing the Hogwarts Choir. The majority pays full attention to the singer's chants, while Keith’s eyes and thoughts stay with Shiro. He admires the white puff frome close up now, as he does with the long eyelashes, the full lips. There’s a small scar on the back of Shiro’s neck that meets his collar. Quickly, Keith looks away.

Shiro doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes and attention are on the kids singing the Hogwarts hymn right about now. He laughs when others join in and sing with them in whatever melody they want to sing, letting the performance end in disassembled but cheerful noise.

“I missed being here,” Shiro says more to himself than Keith. “This place is so merry.” There’s a long pause in which Shiro seems to take it all in, his eyes losing his usual spark for a moment.

“I’ve forgotten how that feels.”

The statement spikes curiosity in Keith: He does want to know more about Shiro, because as of now they’ve been nothing more than colleagues. But the feeling leaves Keith conflicted, too.

“Becoming a sentimental old man is such a Hufflepuff trait,” Keith half-jokes, toeing the line between strong wari- and friendliness with Shiro.

He wonders if the statement was too distant, too superficial, but it coaxes Shiro into laughing loudly with not one hint of shame. A couple of students nearby turn their heads and grin when they see the source of the guffaw.

“Good thing we’re _both_ Hufflepuffs, then.” Shiro bumps Keith’s shoulder playfully, and wipes a tear away. “I hope you, too, will become an old and sentimental Hufflepuff one day, and understand what _I’m_ feeling.”

Keith wears a small smirk. “Then we’ll be two old and sentimental Hufflepuffs together.”

Shiro’s eyes light up.

“Yeah,” he smiles and looks down at his hands.

Keith feels dizzy from Shiro’s attention, from his presence, from...him being Shiro. He barely lives through ten more minutes of conversation during which Shiro smiles at him, touches his arm and compliments Keith on his outfit, before Keith subtly flees to the toilets.

In the yellowed mirrors of the dim and damp washrooms, Keith stares at his reflection. Over a costly crafted sink, he sees a pair of hollow eyes staring back at him.

He reads in them what he keeps thinking since he arrived at the ball: He could dash off and leave Shiro alone at the party.

No longer able to look at the man in the mirror, Keith’s gaze drops to the white-knuckled hands gripping at the sink. He could leave Shiro without a word, but Keith doesn’t have the heart to do that. Even if his mood progressively gets worse the longer and endless amount of questions pile up at the tip of his tongue.

Keith doesn’t know how much time he spends in the bathroom, but he gets a grip and exits them again, only to find Shiro walking into him.

“Sorry,” Keith mutters, presses his back against the nearest wall and slides down. Shiro’s reflexes aren’t quick enough to catch him but Keith’s fall doesn’t hurt. Mostly, he feels numbness over his body.

“Keith,” he hears Shiro speak. He’s agitated. Worried. Keith hears his heart beat so loudly as if it’s not actually a heart beat, but Shiro’s slapping two pots together in vigor. The desperate wish occurs in Keith to gain the ability of turning his human ears away from that sound like he could do with his wolf ears.

“Keith,” Shiro calls out again, voice sounding to Keith like it’s wobbling through time and space. He distantly notices that Shiro’s face grows more concerned by the second. Hasn’t Keith already told him he’s alright? But why is he sitting on the ground again?

“Shit. Something’s wrong,” Shiro hisses and tries to hold up Keith. To Keith, there’s nothing really wrong. He only feels… heavy.

But Shiro seems to worry so much, and Keith desperately wants to reply to him and comfort him. In preparation to calm Shiro down, Keith opens his mouth _wiiiiiide_ —with nothing but a dark growl coming out.

_Oh._

_Shit_.

Shit. Shit.

 _Shit_.

His last human impulse, is the strongest one.

_Shiro needs to run._

He needs to hide as soon as Keith loses all power over his will. But at the moment, Shiro does anything but seek distance; desperate to hold onto Keith to understand what’s wrong.

Shiro’s not stupid. He’d be already fleeing if he’d known that full moon passed—but Keith hadn’t had his _turning_ yet.

“ _Keith_? Keith, listen to me—”

Shiro’s words stop making sense—they are only _aggressive_ noise in Keith’s delicate ears, triggering waves of hostility rolling over him. Another low growl erupts from his body but this time Keith bares his sharp canines.

_Someone...is invading his space—_

Since his youth, Keith has known that the process of turning feels violent. Right now it’s how it has always been: Keith curses and shouts at the way his bones break and stretch and grow together again. Everything around him is crumbling and cracking, disorientating. His skin and hair grow as well, covering his body as good as they can. At the end, Keith’s arms swing freely, emphasizing his enormous, completely new shape. He grew about twice his size, and hovers now above the suddenly minuscule figure of a man with white hair.

Keith barely recognizes Shiro in him, barely remembers him as a person, as someone he _likes._ He doesn’t escape, instead reaching out for Keith’s form, unafraid. But it’s a mistake; there’s no mercy in this cursed half-state.

Keith reaches back and lets his claw wipe over the man’s head.

“Fuck—”

The figure falls back and curses. “That didn’t work as planned—”

Keith howls at a waning moon hidden by the castles’ stonework, sniffs the air and tries to feel for and listen for his brothers and sisters living deep in the Forbidden Forest.

From far away, Keith hears their growls and barking and scrambles to the window, but then another person stands in his way.

“Shiro, for fucks sake—” they call, arms raised in alertness.

All of a sudden, Keith’s werewolf body levitates in the air. It loses its balance fairly quickly, and as a result, tumbles around itself.

Keith recognizes a spell. He knows those.

 _He thinks_.

“He didn’t tell me he hadn’t turned yet,” the white-haired man shouts, making Keith shudder. Keith _should_ be able to recognize the voice, but not nearly as much as he thinks he should. “I would have taken a potion with me otherwise—”

“Get him away,” the person warns. It’s a woman. “He has to leave before he’ll hurt someone else!”

“He will never forgive himself!”

“He has to, Shiro. The wound he gave you isn’t that deep. Hurry now—”

There’s a short break, a moment of clarity.

“Alright. Keith’s going to chase after me when I run, you shut the doors and leave him free—”

“On three—”

Keith feels hands claw at the back of his mind, pull at his conscience, beg him to just give in. He struggles against the pull, struggles against losing power over his will. Someone calls for him, this time it’s not his brothers and sisters. It’s Shiro. Yes, sweet Shiro. Keith raises his head, sniffs in the air, recognizes his scent and gains hope that this time, it won’t be the same. He won’t be alone. But then, darkness embeds him.

*

Keith wakes groggily.

He’s surprised to find himself in his own bed at the hut, with a warm fire started, unsurprised to the lack of strength in his limbs. Next to him, Kosmo lies on the ground, happily yapping as soon as he senses Keith is awake.

“Kosmo,” Keith murmurs. Carefully, he blinks his eyes open and looks around. “What happened?” he croaks, even though he knows the dog won’t answer him.

“You turned,” a voice says and Keith jolts upright. “Don’t move so fast,” he laughs and pushes Keith back into his bed. Keith goes willingly. Swallowed by a dozen cushions that don’t seem to be his own, he looks up, eyes frantically looking back and forth. They then stay on Shiro’s face, shocked at the depth of a fresh scar forming on Shiro’s nose.

“Shiro,” Keith breathes, close to losing his consciousness again. “Shiro, I’ve hurt you.”

“It’s only a small scratch,” Shiro says without feeling. He’s lying. The scar is so deep it cut a piece of flesh out; Keith is sure that somewhere between turning, passing out and waking, Shiro was visited by a nurse from the medical wing. Parts surely will grow back, Keith muses in his head but the scar will stay forever. He feels the worst.

“Shiro,” Keith says again. This time Shiro comes closer with a worried expression on his face. He takes Keith’s hand. “Sorry I ruined the Ball for you.”

Shiro breaks into a smile. “You being there made the Ball worth it.”

Keith rolls his eyes, then flinches at the way sharp pain drives into the back of his head. Ouch. Shiro smiles more before he reaches out and touches Keith’s head. His hand is cool and comfortable against Keith’s forehead. Keith can’t help leaning into the touch.

“I just wished I would have known that you hadn’t turned yet. I wouldn’t have let you come then—”

“I wanted to come,” Keith interrupts him sternly, opens his eyes and looks at Shiro with an intense gaze. “I really did.”

Shiro meets Keith’s gaze and holds it for a moment before looking away. “Do you remember anything from when you turned?” he asks carefully. Keith simply shakes his head.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?” Shiro asks again. “Nothing I said?”

Keith blinks and thinks for a moment. “Nope.”

Shiro takes a deep breath. “Ah. Well.”

There’s something in Keith that settles at that. Shiro simply couldn’t be a bad person, not with how lovingly he cares for Keith even though Keith assaulted him and lost his mind completely while with him. He still wonders what the conversation at Hogsmeade was about but at the moment, he simply trusts Shiro. Shiro is mysterious: He’s tall, handsome and only became a teacher at Hogwarts half a year ago. Instead of his arm he has a mechanical one and no one knows why. He’s an honest person, over-eager but truly lovely. Keith knows when Shiro hides something. And he is right now.

“What did you say?” Keith asks.

Shiro’s cheeks become a deep red, the color flooding his face up till where his white hair starts. He turns away for a moment and Keith supposes he won’t tell him. Shiro then reaches for a cup of tea and a plate of food and holds it out for Keith. Before Keith can reach for it, Shiro spills it. “I might have said that I love you.”

It’s lucky that Shiro hadn’t given Keith a cup and plate yet because Keith would have surely dropped it. “What?” he says, weakly.

“Uh. Well.”

“Why?” Keith breathes.

Shiro scratches his head. “I lead you away into the Forbidden Forest. You were about to attack me—”

“Oh god,” Keith croaks.

“And I was sure I’d die but I also hoped I could reach you. I didn’t want to go with telling you... you know.”

Keith stares at Shiro, mind circling back to what he just told him. Keith drops his gaze then, fiddling with his thumbs. Shiro is still holding onto the cup and plate in his hand, with his knuckles turned white already. “Did you mean it?”

That knocks the breath out of Shiro. He quickly sets the food and the beverage onto a wooden tablet on Keith’s bed. Keith feverishly waits for his answer, hands gripping the bed sheets.

“I, uh. Yeah.”

Keith wants to jump out of bed and fall into Shiro’s arms but he’s very aware of the hot tea sitting on his chest. He only lets out an embarrassing whimper and reaches out for Shiro’s hand. Shiro takes it, still red but with a shy smile this time.

They just hold onto each other for a while, smiling and looking at each other curiously. Keith’s eyelids get heavier and heavier, until they close and let Keith take the rest he needs, with Shiro waking at his side.

*

When Keith wakes again, this time feeling safe and sound, holding enough strength to question Shiro about the incident in Hogsmeade, Shiro is quick to explain the issue to him. Someone had smuggled poison into potions that Shiro wanted to give his students.

“The person who messed with the potions didn’t want to poison me, he wanted to frame me as the bad guy and wipe out all my students,” Shiro explains when he tells Keith about the guy he threatened at Hogsmeade who was the seller of one of the deadly ingredients in the potion.

“But why?” Keith asks. Shiro lets out a deep sigh. His eyes snap to the windows of Keith’s hut, and he stands up to lower the shades. He turns back to Keith with a serious expression.

“There’s a reason I came to Hogwarts to teach,” Shiro starts. Keith takes a sip from his cup and a bite from the thick slice of bread with butter Shiro must have prepared him earlier. “I’m an auror.”

Keith is about to spit his bread out. Shiro wouldn’t be the first – but it’s not what Keith imagined. “Are you at Hogwarts because—” Keith clears his throat, “Is there a threat—”

“No, no. It’s me. I can say it because I… won’t go back for a while. Something happened when I was on an undercover mission,” Shiro touches his mechanical hand with his left hand, carefully feeling for the cold metal. “After years of hiding in the shadows and in-betweens, they found and captured me. The _Imperio_ … then my arm—”

“Did they…” Keith stutters, “the Death Mark?”

Shiro’s eyes cast down. “Yeah,” he sighs. When Keith reaches out for him, Shiro takes his hand again. “Yeah,” he repeats.

“It doesn’t change anything for me,” Keith reassures.

Shiro lies his head in his hands, his eyes are far away in a world Keith doesn’t have access to. Yet. “I’m glad Keith,” he says softly. “I’m glad I met you here. If I hadn’t, my life would have been a lot different.”

It makes Keith laugh. But when he sees how serious Shiro looks, he immediately stops and squeezes his hand tighter. Shiro starts smiling again. “For all I know I’d have never found out that the potion was messed with. You taught me the trick to put one drop of _ginger essence_ to make sure a potion is still good to go. When it changed color, I knew there was something wrong. Imagine the scenario,” Shiro looks truly shaken. “All those children killed.”

Keith moves to the side and pulls with the little strength he still has to bring Shiro into his bed. “It’s alright. It’s alright now,” he coos and takes Shiro in his arm. All his shyness is forgotten: Shiro has foremost priority.

They lie like this comfortably together in the big bed. With a brief movement with his wand, Shiro reopens the shades and they watch the snowfall get harsher in the hazy noon, until Keith takes a second nap, this time, together with Shiro in his arms.

*

Within a short while, the holidays are over—quicker than Keith would have had expected. The first students trickle back to Hogwarts in January, hang around the castle or build magical snowmen outside by using their wands to make them walk and talk. Keith escaped a snowball fight more than once early in the morning whenever he made his way to the greenhouse.

From the greenhouse, he takes a small trail back to the castle, hurries up the stairs to Shiro’s office. The moving stairs still let him arrive late, but when he finally knocks at Shiro’s door, Shiro calls him to come in.

“Hey, Professor,” Keith greets teasingly. It has the effect he hoped for, and Shiro’s neck flushes red. As soon as Keith takes a step farther into the room, and closes the door behind him to shut the cold out.

“K-Keith,” he stutters out and bumps against his desk while he’s standing up. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” Keith smiles. Shiro looks adorable, and both his height and broad shoulders cannot distract from that. “I wanted to ask if you care to accompany me down to the fields. Hufflepuff is playing today,” Keith states.

Shiro makes a surprised face at him.

“Some students asked if Professor Shirogane planned to watch,” Keith concludes. He rounds the desk to strive closer, “I might have slipped that you’re not bad with a broom yourself.”

Shiro coughs out a laugh, not expecting when Keith stands in front of him all of a sudden. “I, uh. You’re still a lot faster than me—”

“That’s certainly because you keep getting distracted.” Keith grins unashamedly now, stepping into Shiro’s space. “I’m pretty sure if you were serious about it, you would have won one race or two.”

Shiro blinks at Keith, dumbfounded. He doesn’t retreat when Keith slings his arms around him, only moves closer to him too, as if they were two magnets, being pulled to each other.

“Keith,” Shiro utters, eyes wide and grey and beautiful. Endeared by Keith’s smile, he leans in, lips pressing softly against Keith’s.

Keith closes his eyes, awaiting the touch of Shiro’s lips against his to come again, tips up and pulls Shiro closer by the neck when it doesn’t come quick enough.

When their lips meet, they both hold their breath, slowly moving against each other. Tentatively, Shiro places a hand at Keith’s neck to deepen the kiss.

Keith lets out an uncontrolled growl before he pulls Shiro’s full body flush against his. Shiro yelps, but gives in, head completely red. He softly nibbles on Keith’s lower lip, making him effectively moan into the kiss.

Too fast, Keith feels Shiro pull away, heart drumming hard against his ribcage, his breath going rapidly, too. When he looks up at Shiro, it’s like looking in the mirror.

“My office,” Shiro mutters, flushed and breathless, “We shouldn’t—”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. It takes a moment to calm himself.

“Down to the fields, then? Cheering on Hufflepuff together?”

Shiro lets out a breathless laugh and throws his head back, but then holds his arm out. “Lead the way.”

Keith hooks his arm into Shiro’s and nods. “Follow me, Takashi.”

Together they leave Shiro’s office and walk down spiraling staircases and up to the gigantic, ornate front gate, where the first hints of spring start blooming from the ground, and the yells of flying Quidditch fans ring from afar.


End file.
